


Replete

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Overeating, Stuffing, belly bloating, belly stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 18:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10791864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: “You look amazing,” John said, touching Sherlock’s stomach gingerly, like the lightest pressure could make it burst. “You’ve never been so full. Does it feel good, Sherlock?”Somehow, it did. Even through the pain and discomfort, something arousing curled deep in the pit of his stuffed belly, telling him that this was good, that this was right. “It does,” he said, letting out a little burp and another moan.“Think about how good it’ll feel when you’re even fuller.”





	Replete

**Author's Note:**

> There is a dearth of good Sherlock belly stuffing material to which to masturbate. I'm doing my best to fill that hungry, empty void.

“C’mon, Sherlock, let it out,” John encouraged, slowly rubbing Sherlock’s taut abdomen. “You know it’ll feel better if you do.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Sherlock said, his voice almost a whine even as his muscles trembled beneath John’s hand. “I look - I look fat.”

 

“And that’s okay,” John soothed, rubbing a little more firmly. Those muscles would give sooner or later, he knew. “You know how much I like to see your tummy. Let it out for me?”

 

Sherlock let out a high whimper and did as he was told, releasing his abdominal muscles. His skin seemed to expand under John’s palm, revealing a full belly that Sherlock had been holding in since they’d left the restaurant earlier that night. He looked down and let out a pained noise.

 

“Beautiful,” John murmured, both hands rubbing the little paunch now. “Look at that. Look at you, with your little tummy. Shows I fed you well tonight, doesn’t it?”

 

Sherlock nodded, a little reluctantly. “It was a good dinner. Very - big portions,” he said, his eyes still on his full middle, which John was rubbing with enthusiasm.

 

“Yes, Angelo does feed us up well. He even offered to send some home, did you know? But I told him no thank you, we had other plans…” He met Sherlock’s gaze evenly, waiting.

 

Sherlock only hesitated for a moment. “What plans are those?” he asked, trailing a finger down the top of his stomach.

 

“Why, to fill you up even more, beautiful,” John replied, dropping a kiss to that taut skin before rising and moving to the fridge. His eyes flickered back to Sherlock as if evaluating his capacity, and he pulled out a covered dish. “I’m going to put this in the oven for you, and in the meantime, I’ll give you a little something to drink,” he said, putting the pan in the oven to heat up. A few minutes later, he returned to Sherlock with a tall glass and a straw. “Dessert,” he pronounced, popping the straw in and handing it to Sherlock. “Then some lasagna for you; you know it’s always better re-heated.”

 

Sherlock took the glass, surprised by its weight. Must be very dense - “A milkshake,” he said, licking some of the whipped cream off the top with a hum. He put the straw in his mouth and sucked. The cool liquid hit his tongue first and then slid down his throat, almost too easily to be considered an effort at all. He barely had to swallow. John toyed with the waist of his trousers as Sherlock drank, quicker at first and then more slowly as the glass emptied.

 

Sherlock let out a loud burp and let his palm slide over the top of his stomach, which was rounding out even more. “This is a large milkshake,” he said a bit thickly, watching his stomach rise and fall with each breath. “I won’t be able to eat much lasagna if I finish this.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you will, love. You’ve still got plenty of room,” John said, patting Sherlock’s side lightly. “I’ll even feed you, so all you have to do is chew and swallow. That’ll make it easier, won’t it?” he said, his finger brushing over the tautest part of Sherlock’s stomach.

 

The touch brought a light shiver to the surface of Sherlock’s skin, making it pull a little tighter around the bulge of his stomach. “Oooh,” he breathed, a delicate edge of pain creeping in with the sensation. All he could do was nod and take another sip.

 

Sherlock felt a little chilled as he drank the last of the milkshake. The cool treat had reached his stomach and brought the temperature of the organ down a small increment, and between that and the sugar content, Sherlock was shivering a little, his belly bared to the air. He rubbed it slowly, feeling it rumble and gurgle under his hands. He was about to speak up when the oven beeped, and John rose from his seat to pull the pan out.

 

“There we are - dinner is served,” he said, setting the full pan down next to Sherlock and scooping a generous portion onto a plate. He cut a bit off - mostly cheese and noodle, with a little sauce - and held it at Sherlock’s mouth. “C’mon, love. Plenty here to fill you up.”

 

Sherlock opened his mouth and let John feed him.

 

The first piece was not all too difficult. It was slow going, but Sherlock managed, with John’s encouragement and a few long burps to release some pressure. He was only a few bites into the second piece when he hesitated just long enough for John to draw back. “Are you full, love?” he asked.

 

Sherlock opened his mouth, stifled a burp, and then nodded, ashamed. “My trousers are - a bit tight,” he said thickly, glancing down at his middle. He was actually so full that his stomach was creating a small pooch over the top of his waistband, the fabric so tight that it had no give left at all. “Maybe if…you undid them, I would have a little more room?”

 

John beamed at him, and Sherlock was glad. All he wanted to do was make John proud, and the more he could eat, the prouder John would be. John rewarded him with a light kiss to his swollen stomach and undid his trousers, helping Sherlock maneuver out of them - something that took longer than usual, with Sherlock struggling to work around his full stomach. When he finally sat back in his chair, back arched slightly to give his stomach more room, John settled in next to him once more and gave him a short break, rubbing his stomach slowly and lovingly. “Do you have more room now, beautiful?” John asked.

 

Sherlock nodded. He did - not much room, granted, but he didn’t feel as full as before, without the pressure from his trousers digging into his middle. He let out another burp that had bubbled up and said, “You can keep going.”

 

John did. He fed him another piece of lasagna, bite by bite. Sherlock chewed and swallowed slowly, trying to buy time for his stomach to expand and relax in between each bite. He kept one hand on his side, rubbing up and down lightly, impressed by how big he had gotten.

 

“It’s starting to settle a bit, love,” John remarked as he scraped the plate clean and gave the fork to Sherlock to hold. “How’re you feeling?”

 

Sherlock looked down. John was right - of course he was, John was always right - his earlier meal had started to settle lower in his gut, making him look a little less top-heavy. “Full,” he said honestly, rubbing the very top curve where he was fullest.

 

“You look full,” John agreed, putting another piece of lasagna on his plate. “Eat this one, and we’ll see how you feel after.”

 

Bite by bite, that piece disappeared too, and then a smaller one after it. Sherlock felt replete, bigger and heavier than he’d ever been before. His stomach was hot to the touch and jutting out further than he thought it could. Blue veins seemed to be pushed toward the surface, as if straining to cover the excess he’d consumed.

 

“You look resplendent,” John said, bending double and kissing Sherlock’s stomach. Even that touch made him groan softly. He was arching his back to the point of discomfort to give his middle as much room as he could, and even so he felt crammed with food. “My beautiful man, stuffed full. I take good care of you, don’t I?” He ran his hand over Sherlock’s stomach.

 

“You do,” Sherlock replied, shifting uncomfortably on the chair. He’d never overindulged to this point before. He was beyond repletion, and was slightly nauseous, he was so full.

 

“And now, since you’ve been so good and cleaned your plate…I’m going to give you some dessert,” John said, standing up and putting the rest of the lasagna away.

 

Sherlock moaned and shook his head, eyes half-closed. “I already had dessert,” he said, shaking his head at the empty milkshake cup on the table.

 

“Yes, but then you had another meal, Sherlock. Another meal deserves another dessert. I’ve got you a nice big slice of chocolate cake, I picked it up earlier today just for this. You don’t want to let it go to waste, do you?” John asked, bringing the plate back over to the table and setting it down in Sherlock’s line of sight.

 

Sherlock looked at the cake and despite himself, his mouth watered a little. It looked _delicious,_ even though his stomach was jam-packed with food already. He looked down at himself and let out another low sound. He wouldn’t be able to eat it; there was no room at all in his stomach for anything else. He drew in a shallow breath - anything deeper pulled at his skin and made his lungs ache - and shook his head. “I’ll have it tomorrow,” he said, touching his belly gingerly and hoping that would satisfy John.

 

John tutted and shook his head. “Just for that, you get a glass of milk to go with it,” he said, rising again and returning a moment later with a tall glass of milk, which he set beside the plate of cake. “Silly man. You’re not finished until I tell you so.” He reached out and laid a finger in the middle of Sherlock’s belly, pushing down until Sherlock winced and bent double, trying to escape the pressure on his stuffed stomach. John kept going until Sherlock let out a whimper, then pulled his hand back and laid both palms flat on Sherlock’s stomach, rubbing lightly. “It feels full, love, but I just know you can fit more. Have some of the milk,” he said, nodding toward the glass.

 

Sherlock picked it up. He took a sip, then another, drinking very slowly. It didn’t make a difference - his body still tried to reject it, stomach cramping to protest the addition of anything else. He made a noise of discomfort and drank a little more, looking down at his stuffed belly with trepidation.

 

“A little more, then I’ll feed you the cake,” John said, his voice brooking no argument. Sherlock took another swallow, grimaced against a wave of pain, and rubbed the top of his aching belly as he set down the glass.

 

John cut a piece off of the cake - heaped with glistening chocolate frosting. He brought it to Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock took it but hesitated before chewing and swallowing, knowing that it was going to hurt when he did. “Come on, now,” John said, and Sherlock swallowed, then let out a quiet whimper.

 

“It hurts,” he said, the skin of his belly - for that’s what it was now, swollen and round and firm - taut and hot under his palm. Even though some of the food had settled lower in his digestive system, his stomach itself was still packed, so full that it looked like it was coming to a point. He looked over and saw the glass of milk, still mostly full, and the piece of cake, all there but for one small bite, and made a noise of pain and uncertainty. “John…”

 

“You look amazing,” John said, touching Sherlock’s stomach gingerly, like the lightest pressure could make it burst. “You’ve never been so full. Does it feel good, Sherlock?”

 

Somehow, it did. Even through the pain and discomfort, something arousing curled deep in the pit of his stuffed belly, telling him that this was good, that this was right. “It does,” he said, letting out a little burp and another moan.

 

“Think about how good it’ll feel when you’re even fuller,” John said, and cut a big piece of cake, holding it to Sherlock’s lips.

 

They had to alternate after that. Each bite of cake was followed by a small sip of milk, and a minute to recover in between. Sherlock’s body was threatening to reject each bite, his stomach making unhappy noises and cramping at irregular intervals, drawing cries from the overstuffed man. Sherlock arched his back even more, trying to give his belly more room to expand, but no amount of squirming and shifting made any more space in his packed stomach.

 

He had a few more bites of cake left, and a quarter glass of milk. He was breathing so shallowly that he was almost lightheaded, and his stomach looked like it had become a being of its own, so round and full that it didn’t seem like it could be part of him.

 

“I can’t,” Sherlock said, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. Drawing enough breath to speak was painful, and he couldn’t stop touching his belly even though the lightest touch sent spines of pain through his bloated organ. “No more, John, please, no more.”

 

“Almost done, beautiful. You’re almost finished, and then I’m going to show you how big you are.” John pushed the glass of milk toward him, and Sherlock drank, letting out a quiet cry when his stomach cramped and rolled beneath his hand.

 

Sherlock swallowed another bite of cake, and drank the milk, and then - the sound of the fork resting on the plate, and the glass being set on the table. “Am I done?” Sherlock asked, and John said “Yes.”

 

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked down. The veins that had been visible before were even more visible now, his skin stark white and so smooth it looked translucent. It was shiny along the tightest, fullest part - the curve just beneath his pectoral muscles leading down to his navel. The whole thing felt hot to the touch and so packed full that it had no give at all when John pressed down. Sherlock gave a halfhearted wince and moan but didn’t have the energy to try and move away from the pain.

 

“Get up,” John said. “I’m going to show you how full you are.”

 

Sherlock shook his head, alarmed. “I can’t move,” he said, gripping the sides of the chair. “I’m too full - John, no, I -“

 

John slid his arms under Sherlock’s and moved him forward, then picked him up. Sherlock cried out and clutched his belly, trying to stay as still as possible, but John forced him to stand on his feet. “It’s a short walk, love. If you want, I’ll carry you, but you’ll have to have another glass of milk when we get there.” This threat made Sherlock lurch forward, trying to stay bent double to keep some of the pressure of his stretched skin from making it worse.

 

Finally, he reached the mirror in the bedroom. John turned on the light and pressed something into Sherlock’s hands. Sherlock shook his head and tried to make John take it back. “You said if I walked on my own —“

 

“I think you have enough room,” John said cheerily, pushing the glass of milk back into Sherlock’s hand. “Stand in front of the mirror and drink it.”

 

Sherlock put one hand on his aching belly and stood in front of the mirror. Facing the front at first, he could tell how full he was - his stomach was pouting, his pants slung low between the overfull curve of it and barely clinging to his bony hips. The shadow on the underside of his belly was unusually pronounced, thanks to the amount of food John had stuffed him with. As he straightened up - slowly, and with noises of pain and discomfort, he could see the strain his body was under.

 

Carefully, he turned to the side. It almost felt like a waddle, the way he had to shift to keep from jostling his stomach unnecessarily. “The milk,” John reminded, and Sherlock took in a shallow, shaky breath and raised the glass to his lips.

 

He watched himself in the mirror as he drank. To his horror, his belly started to cramp and ripple after the first few sips, and the line that defined where his skin stretched to accommodate his crammed stomach became even more pronounced. He let out a sob, trembling, and kept drinking.

 

He was leant back to accommodate his bulk. His stomach stretched out in front of him, white and round and packed, absolutely gorged. It reached a point near his navel and then curved back into his body, so full that it had no give at all beneath his tight, itchy skin. He tipped the glass up further, drank the last of the milk, and let it fall to the floor with a clunk, doubling over to clutch at his distended belly.

 

More cramps were rolling through his belly when John came up and stood behind him, his warm, gentle hands smoothing over the rounded surface. “Look at yourself,” John murmured into his ear, looking at Sherlock’s reflection in the mirror. “You ate so much for me. Got so big you could hardly stand. Don’t you feel amazing?” he murmured.

 

Sherlock did.


End file.
